Fully Dressed

Once again, Rick Bragg has written an article that made me laugh aloud. In this particular feature, he details the subtle differences between stuffing and dressing. With Thanksgiving rapidly approaching, I truly believe that knowledge is power when faced with the inescapable question: What is stuffing, and why would anyone stick their hand up the back end of a raw turkey to make it?

You can keep your stuffing. My favorite Thanksgiving side is just that—on the side—and we call it dressing.

The word “stuffing” had a lot of connotations when I was a boy. None of them had anything to do with food.

Sofas had stuffing. But then again, I rarely heard the word “sofa.” We sat on “couches.” The first time I heard the word “sofa” I thought it was “Sofia,” and I never did figure out why anyone had to sit on the poor woman. Once, I heard someone say they had to restuff their Sofia. This haunts me still.

I digress. Teddy bears had stuffing for insides. Baseballs had it. We were urged to “knock the stuffing out of it.” If you caught a big fish, or shot a deer, or even a big gobbler, you could have them “stuffed and mounted.” I was mightily confused.

Thanksgiving turkeys, however, did not have stuffing, though sometimes my aunt Jo did shove a whole stick of margarine in there. Stuffing, I would be educated, was another word for dressing. And our dressing, as God intended, was cooked separately, in a shallow baking dish or pan.

It was not something the great cooks in my family were willing to debate.

“Stick your hand up the back end of a raw turkey?” said my aunt Gracie Juanita, shaking her head violently from side to side. “That is not natural.”

“Ain’t even human,” my mother said.

But the word stuffing was everywhere, come November. I heard it on the television, usually accompanied by images of a massive turkey with a golden cascade of breadcrumbs tumbling from its insides. Was I missing out? Why didn’t we have stuffing if they had stuffing on Father Knows Best?

“You ain’t missing nothin’,” my mother told me.

I would learn that, like so many things I struggled to understand, it was a Southern thing, like why a faucet inside the house was a faucet but outside the house it became a hydrant. And Southerners, especially mine, did not tolerate in-the-bird dressing.

“It was kind of like dating a Catholic,” said a very Southern friend. “Thank you, but, no.” I dated many Catholics. I never had stuffing.

I would learn it stemmed from a generational fear of undercooked poultry. How could the turkey cook all the way through, my people reasoned, if the heat could not swirl around inside the bird? Onions, lemons, butter, and other seasoning were allowed, but a thick gob of breadcrumbs was salmonella waiting to happen. But even if bacteria were not an issue, the cooks in my family would have shunned stuffing for one simple reason: taste.

Our dressing started with an iron skillet of cornbread, mixed with onion, sage, and the fatty, golden nectar from boiled turkey or chicken, usually the pieces that would otherwise be thrown away. It was baked until a golden crust formed on the top, leaving the inside firm but creamy. Too dry and it set up like cake. Too wet and it was a watery mess. It had to be perfect, and usually was.

Years ago, I stood in a supermarket, staring at a “stuffing mix” of spices and prepackaged breadcrumbs—tiny, hard little cubes. Mama, I thought, was right again. But when I mentioned that we were having turkey and dressing at my house, my Yankee friends looked confused. You mean, they asked, the stuff you put on salads?

It is a miracle we fought only one war.

All credit goes where credit is due, to the wonderful writer Rick Bragg and Southern Living magazine. I only hope that this extremely scientific approach at explaining the differences between stuffing and dressing has finally alleviated the hysteria, stress, and insanity that has plagued you ever since you learned that stuffing, to some, is not the foamy stuff in the couch or whatever is inside a baseball. May you have peace and uninterrupted sleep for the rest of your days, now that the mystery has been solved. The only stuffing that will be at our table will be the act of eating until we hate ourselves, as it should be. Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

Happy Birthday, Mom!

There are very few people on the planet that are as special as our mother. Not only is she beautiful on the inside and out, the woman is a genius. She raised three children (four, if we're being honest; we know you're technically an adult, Daddy, but age is really just a number) while never losing the child inside of her. She is funny, enthusiastic, and a bit a lot clumsy, finding herself at the butt of most of our jokes. She knows how to laugh at herself, which is a really good thing. Otherwise, we would have found ourselves in a TON of trouble over the past 18 years. She is the most loyal person we have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She sees the goodness and the beauty in everything and everyone, no matter the color or creed. She has listened to us waxing poetic over the virtues of one celebrity or another, undergone numerous in-depth descriptions of movies or television shows (most of which she'd already seen), managed not to laugh as we suffered heartbreak at the hands of a movie star or a singer that we were going to marry, and even claimed us when we went into public wearing Halloween costumes in March, braided our hair into something akin to cornrows with beads and ribbons, or tried to do our own makeup (on certain occasions, all three were involved).

In short, Mama is the greatest.

There are really no words to explain how much we love her. She is our friend, our confidant, our biggest cheerleader, our number 1 fan, and our counselor. She has worn the hat of a chef, a driver, a coach, a nurse, a teacher, and, more recently, a manager. She dedicated her entire life to us, giving up her dreams for ours. How do you thank someone for that? How do you try to repay that kind of debt? We could wake up tomorrow and say "Thank you. I love you," over and over and over, day in and day out, and never truly express how grateful we are for her, how much we love her. But you can be sure we're going to try.

Mama, you are something else. We have never met anyone like you, and maybe that's a good thing, because the world couldn't take two Allison's. Whether you're drawing elephants on the kitchen windows in Sharpie or marching around the house banging pots and pans together simply because you can, you are a source of constant fun and enthusiasm. You set the perfect example of a strong, independent, Godly woman. You have shown the two of us what it means to be a lady with class, a woman with brains, and a girl with heart. You taught us to be ourselves in a world that would stop at nothing to shape us to its mold. You taught us to think for ourselves and to never, ever dumb ourselves down to fit in. You showed us that fitting in wasn't all that it's cracked up to be, and it's much better to be thought of as positively ridiculous than cool, if being cool meant we had to act positively ridiculous.

You instilled in us the importance of family, enforced in us the truth that blood truly is thicker than water, and showed us that the best friends we could ever have are in the form of parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, and even Gamecock-loving cousins. You taught us the importance of being kind and polite, but also that we should never let ourselves be walked all over. You taught us to be confident, to respect ourselves, and to always seek to grow and be better while never forgetting that we are perfect in your eyes and in God's eyes. You taught us to be a princess, the daughter of the King of kings, to walk with our heads held high and to always believe in ourselves. You are our constant in an ever changing world. You have always been there, and you will always be there, no matter the distance between us. You are as steady and shine as brightly as the sun. Thank you for helping us grow and flourish in your light.

You gave us the confidence to follow our dreams, to step out into uncertainty and off of the ledge of normalcy, to trust our wings to carry us through. You offered your unyielding support, and we thank you for that. We would have quit so many times before if it weren't for your eternal-and oftentimes, unfounded-belief in us. You see us not as we think we are, but as we could be, and you never let us stop dreaming. You held us when we cried, wiped away our tears, and took our hands when we were too afraid to go forward alone. You prayed for us, and your prayers cling to us even now, guiding us along the dark and twisted path we walk and protecting us in the way that only a mother's love can.

You showed us what it means to be a Godly wife and mother. People may look down on your decision to be a stay-at-home mom, but we think you are the queen, Mama. You wear your crown well, and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for loving us, for laughing with us, and for allowing us to be involved in your life. Thank you for loving us, thank you for loving Daddy, thank you for loving your parents and giving us a perfect example of what the love of a mother, wife, and daughter looks like. You are the greatest woman in the world, Mama, and we love you so much!

Happy birthday, Mama. We hope you have a day that's just as wonderful as you are (which is really impossible, because you are the most incredible person on the planet).

We love you so much,

L + B^2